


The Grand Hotel

by fluorescentadolescent



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Grand Hotel AU, Mystery, Romance, Slow Burn, Teamwork, early 20th century
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluorescentadolescent/pseuds/fluorescentadolescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1905. When Bellamy Blake discovers his sister has suspiciously vanished from the Grand Hotel where she worked as the head chambermaid, he disguises himself as a waiter to take matters into his own hands and begin an investigation. Along the way, he gains unexpected allies and uncovers truths he never anticipated.</p><p>AU inspired and based on the show, "Grand Hotel".<br/>Rating will most likely change to Mature as story progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies. I have finally made a dent in this fic, and I really hope you all like it. This one is way more plot heavy, and it's going to have a lot of suspense and mystery (hopefully)! I know a bunch of you are probably wondering what show I am even referring to when I mention "Grand Hotel", but lemme tell you - it is GREAT. It's also on Netflix and even though the show has subtitles, because it's a Spanish show, it is totally worth it. Anyways, I totally saw the storyline fitting these characters, especially Bellamy and Clarke, so I figured, "why not". (Just a heads up to anyone planning to watch the show that this fic could be spoilery) 
> 
> P.S. My other fic, "Someday", is something I've decided to leave open-ended, that way I can go back to it whenever I feel inspired. I promise I have not abandoned it! That fic is basically the world I go to when I need to go fluff/angst crazy. I was debating on ending it, but I figured I might as well leave it as a fic I can go back to, mainly due to all the lovely feedback I received.
> 
> Anyways, ENJOY and let me know what you think :)

_Dearest Bellamy,_

_I am sorry I haven’t written you in so long - we’ve been so busy preparing for the Festival of Light here at the Grand Hotel. The entire place is filled to capacity, with people even coming from as far as Spain for the party. I must admit, though, that it is quite intimidating. It’s my first real event as head chambermaid. I have a lot to prove. You must come visit me soon, big brother. The Grand Hotel, although enigmatic and, at times, disquieting, is extraordinary, and I know they’d hire you in the blink of an eye. This place has changed my life. I finally feel like I belong somewhere. All that’s missing is you… and Mother. I wish you were here. I miss you. I love you._

_Your sister, Octavia_

Bellamy Blake smiled to himself as he read his sisters letter. She’d be so surprised to see him. He knows he could have just written her back, but it was time he left. And by the time she received his letter of response… well, he couldn’t wait that long. He was finally ready to move on from what had happened. He had finally left the west coast to be with Octavia, and to say he was excited to see his baby sister again would be the understatement of the century.  

He folded up the letter and put it back into his jacket’s interior pocket, pulling out his pocket watch to make sure the train was on time. It was. And he was buzzing with excitement. It had been too long.

The older lady seated beside him kindly tapped his shoulder. “Look,” she said, in a wavering voice elderly people seemed to always possess. He followed her pointing finger in the direction of the train window. Well, really she had been pointing to the beautiful landscape that was now in his line of vision. “Arkadia,” she told him, wonder filling her fragile voice. He turned briefly towards her with a warm smile, excitement pooling in his stomach, before turning back to look at the seemingly endless green hills in front of him, the ocean a clear sight in the distance. Lush. That was the word to describe Arkadia.

As he got off the train, Bellamy yanked out his flat cap from his pocket, repositioning it over his unruly hair. He needed to look the slightest bit presentable if he was to step foot in the Grand Hotel. His khaki suit vest was uncomfortable in the sweltering heat, especially under his grey jacket, but it was also the nicest outfit he owned. Jeez, he needed a smoke.

As he walked down the outdoor train concourse, small cloth bag carrying his meager things over his shoulder, he lit a Lucky Strike, heaving a sigh of relief. Octavia had made him quit, what with all those new rumors floating around about it being deadly for a person. Not long after she left to head east, though, he had picked up the habit again. He smiled at the memory of her plucking one too many smokes from his mouth only to crush it under her heel. God, he missed her.

He was leaning against a wall outside the station, trying to ignore the tearful couple in front of him, when he noticed her. Shiny blonde hair, glowing blue eyes. Her straw hat was tilted on an angle, her white long dress snug against her small frame. She walked with the purpose and confidence so often lacking in the women he was accustomed to seeing in his world. She reminded him of Octavia, in that her strength had every other man doing a double take of her as she exited the train station.

The letter Octavia had written him felt heavy in his jacket pocket all of a sudden with its urgency, reminding him to get off his ass and find her instead of admiring a dame with pretty eyes. He’d been unbearably lonely without his sister.

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he almost missed the blonde getting into what was undoubtedly a green Rolls Royce V-8. _Ah_ , he thought to himself. That explains the air of confidence to her. It didn’t explain the bright smile she greeted her driver with, though. Bellamy had found over the years that rich people tended to stick to other rich people. And everyone else, well, they were overlooked. Especially the help. But this blonde, with her friendly smile and, by the looks of it, her friendly conversational skills, was not a thing he often saw between a richie and a poor- _sorry_ , he amended mentally. Between a richie and a driver. 

He smirked to himself. _Looked like Arkadia was going to be full of surprises_. He embraced this thought though, the prospect of a fresh start undoubtedly appealing.

 *

As soon as the car pulled up to the hotel, Clarke spotted her mother awaiting her arrival at the ivory front steps. “Thank you, Pascual,” she told her driver quickly, who swung the car door open for her, before bounding down the stone path to embrace her mother. She looked… healthy, happy for once. She looked like she had missed her. 

They clutched each other in a brief, but tight, hug. “Clarke,” her mother breathed happily. “I’m so glad you’re finally home.”

“It feels good to be back,” she responded with a bright smile, still clutching her mother’s arms.

“I almost thought you would not make it in time for the party this evening. Shall we go inside?” Abby asked her, tucking a stray hair back behind her straw hat.

“Of course,” Clarke responded, happy to finally be back home. “And Wells? Jaha? I assume they’ve arrived already?”

“Wells hasn’t arrived yet - some mishap of sorts. He should be getting here shortly,” her mother told her as she led Clarke up the stone stairs to the front entrance.

“Knowing Wells, he probably missed the train again,” Clarke said letting out a soft chuckle.

“Perhaps. Jaha got in yesterday evening and is quite excited to see you. Let’s see if we can catch him before lunch,” her mother told her, leading her past the threshold to her home – the Grand Hotel.

*  
  
Bellamy trudged up the steep hill, cursing his fancy shoes and their useless grip. He was absolutely astounded that he hadn’t gone barreling down the hill yet. What a grass-stained sight he would be to the guests of the Grand Hotel if he had. He shook his head in disdain, a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t believe he was here. He couldn’t believe Octavia was here – working for these people. These people she was supposed to hate. That’s why he was here, though. To let her know she didn’t need to work for these people anymore, that he could support the both of them here in Arkadia with the carpentry job he was offered.

When he finally reached the top of the hill, well, he decided Octavia could have done worse. The hotel, the _palace_ if he were being honest, was breathtaking to say the least. The beauty had two octagonal towers which he was certain hid a princess inside. The white stone masonry slate was really what made the place so beautiful though, contrasting with the blue backdrop of the ocean and the vibrant green of the grass. The place was enormous for a hotel, and he wondered how exactly this place was filled to the brim almost every night.

Shaking his head, yet again, he adjusted his makeshift bag over his shoulder more comfortably before stepping onto the stone path that lead to the south back entrance.

He’s walking down steps into what seems to be the kitchen when he hears a stern voice.

“Harper! The tablecloths aren’t out yet?”

“They’ve just arrived, Ma’am,” responds a timid voice.

“That is not what I asked. I want them out immediately, no explanations.”

Bellamy shudders at the thought of being bossed around by these people, once again wondering how the hell his sister does it. When he peeks through the white French doors, the kitchen is buzzing with countless maids and waiters, and what appears to be the same stern lady who was telling off a maid five seconds prior. She’s wearing a chiffon black suit jacket over a long skirt of the same material and colour, and he finds it fitting to her personality. She’s an older lady, probably in her fifties.

When Lady Stern finally shuffles out of the kitchen to attend to what he assumes are some demanding rich guests, he decides now is his chance to ask around for his sister.

As soon as he walks in, he’s wishing he hadn’t because he already feels like he’s in the way, busy staff speed walking around him snatching up tablecloths and setting up trolleys and cutlery.

“Are you the new waiter?” asks a male voice to Bellamy’s right. 

“Uh, no,” he tells the waiter with the brush cut and caramel skin. His eyes are equal parts anxiety and annoyance. Bellamy pulls his hat off before he elaborates. “No, I’m looking for Octavia Blake.”

And that seems to catch his attention, because the boy freezes his meticulous assorting of knives, his back stiffening. 

“Hello? Do you happen to know where I could find her?” Bellamy repeats.

He finally turns around, his expressive brown eyes only confusing Bellamy further.

“Octavia?”

“Yes,” Bellamy says, a little impatiently. “She’s the floor manager. Do you know her?”

“Octavia doesn’t work here anymore,” the waiter says, turning his attention back to the knives in front of him.

“Excuse me?” he says a little too loudly, catching the attention of the staff, but who gives a damn anyway. 

That seems to pull the boy out of his feigned indifference, because next thing Bellamy knows is he’s being pulled back out the entrance he came through, out onto the small corridor that leads to the back gardens and the cliffs of rock the hotel lays on.

“They fired her,” the boy tells him and Bellamy’s stomach drops out from under him.

“Why?” he demands, his patience running more and more thin, his confusion intensifying.

“It seems she stole some jewelry from a guest of the hotel.” And had Bellamy been more levelheaded in that moment, he portably would’ve noticed the sincere regret filling the boy’s eyes in having to tell him this. 

“That’s impossible. Octavia would never steal anything, let alone jewelry from some guest!” Bellamy retorts, as if on trial against this stoic man he doesn’t know.  

“Well, that’s what the guest told the hotel and I think we all know her word is worth more than a maid’s, especially when that guest happens to be Lady Griffin’s old-time friend, Mrs. Kane.” And Bellamy doesn’t punch the guy right then and there because he says this statement bitterly, as if he wishes things were different but knows they never will be. He says it like he’s been a victim to the horrible injustice many times.

“What’s her name?” Bellamy demands, because none of this is making any sense and he needs answers.

“Mrs. Kane. Genevieve Kane.”

He asks, more nicely this time, “Where did Octavia go?”

“No idea. She didn’t say goodbye to anyone, in fact. She was fired so she left and that was that. We never heard from her again. We assumed she went home,” he says, shrugging, an upset look in his eyes.

Bellamy can feel his emotions getting the best of him, because this entire story is making his hair rise with dread. He has a horrible feeling in his gut, and the idea of anything bad happening to his sister sends his thoughts into a downward spiral and his emotions into overdrive.

Through blurry eyes he states, “Well, she didn’t. I haven’t heard from her in a month! She usually writes me every week, two weeks at most.”  

“Maybe she was embarrassed to tell you…” he drifts off, not really believing what he’s saying, it seems.

“If you knew Octavia at all, you’d know that’s not true,” Bellamy says gruffly, voice thick with emotion.

Before the boy can respond to him, though, an older man, with a tuxedo and black hair that’s greying slightly, is saying, “Nathan! What are you doing out here? Is this the new waiter?”

But before Nathan can respond, to who appears to be the man in-charge of the wait staff, Bellamy does. “Yes, Sir. I just arrived and was introducing myself to Nathan over here.”

Bellamy glances at Nathan from his peripheral, taking in the look of horror on his face with a slight wince.

“Very well,” says the man. “Nathan, bring him to his room and get him a uniform. Then, the two of you are needed in the dining room.”

He just nods, quietly mumbling a quick, “Yes, Sinclair,” and leading Bellamy back the way they came.

Once they’re back in the kitchen, Nathan turns to him quickly, hissing a fast, “What were you thinking?” and Bellamy is about to respond but then Nathan is rushing past another set of French doors into a hallway and when he goes to follow him a blonde girl is rushing past him into the kitchen smiling and greeting Nathan quickly before she disappears behind the door.

 _What in the hell_ , Bellamy thinks looking after her, _is the girl from the train station doing here?_ But he shakes his head, turning to catch up with Nathan the waiter who is almost at the end of the hallway now.

 *  
  
 “Mrs. Miller!” Clarke shrieks excitedly, running through the kitchen to wrap the lady, wearing her usual black attire, into a warm hug.

“Clarke! We missed you, dear,” says Mrs. Miller returning her hug, albeit a bit stiffly. Clarke holds no pretenses concerning the type of hotel her mother owns. But she’s always made it a habit of hers to remain friendly and acquainted with the staff. This is her home, after all. So, when Mrs. Miller stiffens the slightest bit, Clarke doesn’t take it to heart, even if she helped raise her.

“I missed you all, too. Probably more,” she says through an elated giggle. “But I’m back now, and for good I hope.”

Mrs. Miller pulls away, cupping Clarke’s face with a hand affectionately, clearly concerned. She’s smiling at her, though, and Clarke hopes she never has to leave again because she’s missed her family here more than she thought she would.

And then she catches sight of Raven, and Clarke is officially overjoyed to be back. Running to the maid, and probably her only friend here (or at all), Clarke pulls the dark-haired beauty into a hug that she returns just as forcefully.

“I thought you’d never come back,” Raven tells her happily, sarcastically. Pulling away from the blonde, Raven asks more serious, “Have you seen Jaha yet? Wells?”

“Jaha, yes. Wells, no.”

“And? Was it terrible?”

Just as Clarke is about to answer, the white doors of the kitchen open, and in walks Finn Collins, her mother’s protégé. And also Raven’s ex _something_ , though the girl will never go into much detail as to what exactly went on between them. As well as the future manager of the hotel. And, by the looks of the persistence in his eyes as well as her mother’s previous hinting, her future fiancé.

“Clarke, it’s lovely to see you again. Can we have a word?” Finn asks her politely. He’s dressed in a black tuxedo and a red tie that probably costs as much as a week’s stay in this hotel.

She glances at Raven quickly, uncertainly, but the other girl just nods her head quickly before attending to making some tea. They’ll have time to talk later.

“Of course, Finn,” Clarke tells him.  
  
*

When Nathan shows Bellamy the room they will be sharing, two single beds, a desk, and a dresser cramped within the small space, he wastes no time in closing the door and thrusting his uniform at him on his bed.

“What is all this, huh?” he demands, clearly annoyed.

“I told you already – I’m trying to find my sister,” Bellamy responds, peeling the uniform from the hanger.

“And I told you already that she left,” he drawls, tired of the whole conversation and ready to get back to work. He thinks he’d like this Nathan fellow if he weren’t so hell bent on serving these rich assholes.

“Yes, but you don’t know where she went, and she would not have left without writing me first.  I just travelled 3000 kilometers to see my sister. I’m not leaving without her.”

He just stares at Bellamy for a full minute before saying, “Fine. But this is my bed, and you better have something good to tell the waiter that will eventually arrive wondering why he has no job.” Then, almost as an after-thought, “If you get me fired, I will kick your ass,” he says, and Bellamy doesn’t doubt it.

Bellamy nods in response. It looks like he’s going to be a waiter.

*

The lace neckline of Clarke’s white dress is currently choking her, and all she wants to do is change after the many hours of travelling by train, but she followed Finn Collins into the gardens anyway because she was trying here. And she knew her mother had set this up.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m leading you out here,” Finn said, almost shyly.

“As long as you’re not planning on killing me out here, I’m fine with it for now,” Clarke said, trying to dissipate the awkward tension. She knew she failed when he didn’t laugh and his eyebrows drew together confusedly.

She cleared her throat, and remembered whom she was talking to. She tried not to laugh at the face of horror she imagined on her mother’s face had she been present to hear her.

“My apologies. I’m just wondering why you’re interested in speaking with me, Mr. Collins,” she says looking down.

“Please, call me Finn. I know you probably have your suspicions about all this,” he says stopping to face her on the path surrounded by the Lamprocapnos section of the garden. _Fitting_ , she thinks absently. “And I know your father’s death altered everyone’s plans irrevocably, especially yours. The hotel, though, was left without a manager, and although your mother is doing a fine job of owning the hotel, we all know it's a man's job to manage it. Your mother also thinks it’s been long enough...”he trails off. 

“Long enough for what?” Clarke asks, trying to control her annoyance and anger, but she knows she let it seep into her voice when Finn takes a moment longer to respond.

“Long enough,” he drawls, “for you to decide how you want to spend your future.”

She wishes he would just come out and say it; her mother needs Finn to marry Clarke, a Griffin, in order for him to properly run this place. “And with whom I should spend it,” she says quietly, not really a question, but he answers her anyway.

“Yes. She thinks it’s time you got engaged,” he says, smiling. It makes her feel sick.

“To whom?” She asks, and Clarke knows she is pushing it here, but there is no way she’ll give in so easily.

“To whomever you please,” he says finally, but the look in his eyes informs her that he definitely means himself.


	2. Chapter 2

“Which room is hers?” Bellamy asks looking down the narrow hallway from his open bedroom door.

“Jesus, you really are going to get me fired,” Nathan mutters under his breath. When he looks up to meet Bellamy’s expectant gaze, he just sighs heavily. “Third door to the left.”

Bellamy nods and begins to make his way down the hallway. He’s about to open his sister’s door when he feels a hand slam down on his shoulder, yanking him backwards. “Are you crazy?” Nathan whisper-shouts. “Now? You’re going to go into her old room now? If you’re caught…” But he doesn’t finish that sentence, instead shaking his head, sighing again, and Bellamy almost feels bad except… _Octavia_.

When Bellamy simply arches an eyebrow at him, Nathan relents, dropping his hand from his shoulder.

“Stay here and let me know if anyone is coming,” Bellamy tells his new roommate, opening the unlocked door in front of him. When he’s inside, he closes the door behind him (just in case), and quickly makes his way over to the bedside table, pulling the drawer open.

He pauses his search when he hears an unfamiliar voice asking Nathan if he’s seen Sinclair because the new waiter has arrived. Cursing under his breath, Bellamy speeds up his search, overhearing Nathan tell the other person, “I’ll let Sinclair know, don’t fret.” And that’s probably Bellamy’s cue to get the hell out of there, especially if no one is watching the hallway now, but he’s so close – he can feel it.

He makes his way over to the wooden dresser, doubting Octavia would hide anything like a clue of some sort indicating her whereabouts there, in plain view, but he makes sure regardless.

Nothing. _Damn it_. He’s about to give up when he spots an engraving on the desk beside the dresser. Leaning forward he sees clearly that it says Octavia, and his heart begins to pound because he’s finally finding some answers. She was here. She wrote this so he’d see it – he knows it for certain.

“Who the hell are you?” asks a female voice from the doorway, jolting him in surprise. Now his heart is beating for a completely different reason as he scrambles to find a plausible explanation. Luckily, Bellamy’s always been good at thinking on his feet.

He molds his features into one full of innocence, smirking slightly in surprise at the maid in the doorway. “I’m sorry, I’m new. I was looking for my room but it seems I got lost,” he tells the girl in his most charming voice.

“Can’t you read? The red sign states this is a maid’s bedroom,” the woman says, placing both hands on her hips, all attitude and no bullshit. He likes the fact that Octavia was roommates with this girl.

“I’m sorry… Octavia.” He’s going to spin this, it seems. Any information is helpful at this point.

“My name is Raven,” she declares, a twinkle of recognition in her eyes at the mention of his sister. Quickly glancing over her shoulder, she hastens to shut the door. “And you’re going to get me fired if Mrs. Miller finds you in here.”

“Oh, sorry, I just saw that the desk said Octavia so I figured…” he trails off, looking down, praying to God that this girl works with him.

“She was my roommate.” And now Raven’s voice is downright sad. _Finally_ , Bellamy thinks to himself. “We were friends.”

And before Bellamy can question her further there’s an insistent knock on the door, followed by a female voice calling out, “Raven?” He knows that voice – it’s the same one from the kitchen, and his eyes widen as he stares at Raven, frozen in place.

“Quick,” Raven hisses, scurrying up to him and grabbing his sleeve. “Get behind the door!” And Bellamy does, because where the hell else is he supposed to go?

When Raven finally opens the door, his heart is about ready to fall out of his ass.

“Raven, why in heavens name was the door locked?” Mrs. Miller asks.

“Sorry, Ma’am. I was changing.”

“You’re needed in the laundry room. They’re handing out the uniforms to the new employees.”

“Of course.” Raven says, cool and calm, her voice unbetraying of her current predicament.

When they finally leave the room, Bellamy leans his head back against the wall, letting out a sigh of relief.

*

“Nathan!” Bellamy calls, making his way over to the boy speaking to who he assumes is the new waiter. He’d feel bad if his sister wasn’t currently missing.

“Bellamy, this man over here says he’s the new waiter,” Nathan says with a pointed look that almost makes him laugh. Almost.

“Oh? We weren’t expecting one,” Bellamy says, raising his chin and crossing his hands behind his back, which proves to be difficult in his tight waiter’s uniform, but hopefully he’s intimidating the poor fellow.

“What?” the man asks in horror, clearly puzzled.

“All the positions are already filled, I’m sorry…” Bellamy trails off because he doesn’t know the guys name.

“Sterling. My name is Sterling and this is absurd! I traveled all the way to Arkadia awaiting a position at the Grand Hotel! I received a letter confirming my position!” This Sterling proceeds to stomp his boot, and Bellamy is having a really hard time keeping his shit together.

“May I see this letter?” Bellamy asks, and Nathan looks like he’s going to snap in half from how stiff his spine is. Pretending to look over the letter, Bellamy frowns. “Yes. I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.”

“What are you talking about?” Sterling asks, his voice dripping with frustration.

“There has been a mistake, I’m sorry,” Bellamy repeats. “We hired staff last month for the Festival of Light, and I’m afraid the letter arrived too late.” Bellamy can feel Nathan’s gaze on his profile, but he holds firm. “It’s not your fault, nor is it ours. It seems to be a culpability on behalf of the postal service,” Bellamy expands when Sterling doesn’t move.

“The most we can do is let you know when there’s another vacancy, Sterling. We are sorry for the inconvenience,” Nathan chimes in, and Bellamy smirks at the attempt – a little too late, but helpful nonetheless.

And then Sterling’s face falls in resignation, and what looks like sadness, as he lifts his makeshift bag off the floor, turning to leave. Bellamy tries to push the guilt down, because he just deprived someone of their job and he knows how difficult those are to come by for someone like Sterling… someone like himself.

“That wasn’t right,” Miller says quietly, regretfully at his side.

Bellamy just nods, because he knows. God, does he know.

*

Nathan and him are both late to the staff meeting, of course, and by the look on Sinclair’s face, it can’t happen again. Bellamy inwardly sighs, cursing the universe for having to put up with these people.

The lady in-charge from the kitchen, Mrs. Miller, speaks to them instead of Sinclair. “Unpunctuality is not permitted at the Grand Hotel. If we say 6:00, you should be ready by 5:30.” Then she continues on her spiel of how each employee is responsible for his or her own uniforms, how jewelry of any kind is not to be worn, as well as nail polish for the maids. Uniforms must be spotless and wrinkle-free. Knowledge of all three floors of the hotel is required – all sixty bedrooms, every nook and cranny. Staff must also have adequate information regarding guests residing at the hotel, but before anything, if we are unsure we must ask as opposed to making an avoidable mistake. Most importantly, still, staff must behold the image of the Grand Hotel. Oh, and the client is not, under any circumstances, a friend.

Bellamy’s head hurts and Mrs. Miller doesn’t even look like she’s gotten into the thick of it.

When they are finally freed to set up tables, Bellamy slides up beside Nathan, following his lead because he has no idea what he’s doing.

“At least we have Sinclair and not her breathing down our necks, huh? She seems unbearable,” Bellamy says as he puts on his white gloves.

“She’s my mother,” Nathan responds flatly, thrusting a tablecloth at him.

Oh. Well, _shit_.

*

“Clarke, I already gave him my word. A Griffin does not break that,” says Abby, perched in her fancy chair.

“Mother, I don’t love him! I barely even know him.”

Her mother stares at her a moment with hard, uncompromising eyes and Clarke knows she’s lost this argument already. “No one has asked you to love him, dear. You just have to marry him.”

Clarke turns around in frustration, feeling the tears brimming already, and she’s about to march out of there when her mother speaks again.

“Finn Collins is necessary for this family and this hotel. Do not be selfish, Clarke. Who is supposed to take care of this place when I die? If you marry him, at the very least, the hotel will remain within the family.”

“ _I’m_ being selfish?” she nearly screams, spinning around. Her mother just shakes her head at her, looking down at her own folded hands in her lap.

“You know, maybe if you had sent me to school, like father had wished, instead of trying to marry me off, we wouldn’t be having this issue! I could have studied business or management – I could have done it!” Now Clarke is yelling.

“Lower your voice,” Abby responds tersely, because God forbid any of the guests realize their family is ruined beyond repair. “Your only job, the only thing you need to worry about, is being a good wife. You really think you could manage the hotel better than he?”

“Yes! Father would have thought so, too!”

“Well, your father isn’t here!” Her mother yells back, and that works to shock them both into silence.

Clarke can barely see her mother beyond her tears, but Abby continues, ruthless.

“Your father indulged you, Clarke. This is no job for a lady. Do you think I want a man outside of the family in charge? Of course not! But your cousin, who should be here now, isn’t. Jasper would rather sell this place for a pile of cannabis. He has no care in the world to manage, so this is my only option.”

Clarke shakes her head, feeling more helpless than ever, cursing the society she lives in.

More softly this time, “Clarke, do you think I enjoy having to marry you off? I always thought you’d marry Wells.” She suppresses the urge to role her eyes, refusing to comment on that; after fifteen years of friendship, her mother is still convinced she and Wells were in love with each other. Her mother doesn’t know her at all. “I want what’s best for you, honey,” she continues. “I will not have you bitter, unmarried and alone.”

Clarke turns away, rolling her eyes this time. _Yes, because that is definitely the only alternative._

“Clarke, please sit down.” And she only does because she’s so exhausted. “Finn obviously cares about you. And you should be grateful he does.” That peaks her interest.

“What? Why should I be grateful?”

“Your father was a great man, but even he committed some sins. Enough to put us and this family in danger.”

“Father would never do anything to harm this family,” Clarke states firmly. If she knew anything, or anyone, in this world it was her father, Jake.

“Look at the accounts if you don’t believe me. Your father loved you, but he also made mistakes and now we are left to fix them.” Then, more gently. “Think about it, Clarke. Think of all you’d be doing to save this family.”

She looks her mother in the eye, not recognizing the woman staring back at her. Tragedy and looming debt have made her hard and cold over the years. Clarke gets up to leave, feeling defeated.

Before she can escape, her mother speaks up one last time. “Clarke? If you play your cards right, you will be leading Finn and not the other way around – just as I guided your father.”

She just nods in response, wiping away her tears as she walks down the hall. No matter what mistakes her father may have made, she knows they were just that – mistakes. Unintentional. He loved his family more than anyone she had ever known. Her father had been the only real person left in Arkadia, and now he was dead.

*

It was dinnertime when Nathan pulled Bellamy aside.

“You see that lady sitting there by herself? With the hat? That’s Genevieve Kane.”

Bellamy peeked through the opening between the two doors, spotting the older woman instantly. She stood out easily with her Edwardian hat and pearl necklaces. Anger bubbled inside Bellamy instantly at the nerve of this lady. Octavia would never steal anything from anyone. He had raised her better than that. The fact that Mrs. Kane had even noticed something was missing (if anything was at all) was mind boggling, what with her fifty pearl necklaces and rings.

Bellamy was about to march up to her, completely disregarding his uniform, when Nathan yanked him back into the kitchen. “Okay, I’m getting that you’re impulsive, but really? You think she’ll talk to you?”

He tried not to be offended at that, but he was right. There’s no way this woman would give a waiter the time of day. “What do you suggest I do then?” Bellamy growls.

“You change your black bow tie to one of colour so they think you’re a guest,” Nathan responds easily, patting him on the back and returning to wrap the cutlery in napkins.

Bellamy sighs. This place is going to exhaust him into the ground before he finds his sister.

*

Bellamy approaches the table slowly, adjusting his beige bow tie. Pausing behind Mrs. Kane’s chair, he takes a deep breath, going to ruffle his hair before he realizes it’s slicked back. _Damn hotel_ , he thinks bitterly.

“Lady Kane?” he asks in wonder, as if he knows her.

She spins around in her seat, looking to him in confusion. “Do I know you?”

“You don’t remember me? I’m Julie Dashner’s nephew,” he says, throwing out a name he heard earlier while he was setting up tables.

She pretends to recognize him, obviously, because she smiles, the name a clear emblem of importance, and sticks out her hand saying, “What a pleasure!” Her voice is slightly husky, and her hair is chocolate brown, the roots beginning to turn grey. She looks like she would have been a heartbreaker back in her day, her beauty still present in spite of her wrinkles.

“Do you mind if I join you for a bit?” he asks, turning on his charm and busting out the smirk.

It works because she responds easily with a, “By no means. Sit down, young man.”

He thanks her and before he knows it she’s delving into conversation, making his life easy for once. “It’s such a beautiful hotel and evening. The Griffin’s never disappoint. I hear they’re announcing an engagement tonight,” she says suggestively, begging him to indulge in her gossip.

“Really? Engagement between whom?” He asks, clenching his fist in annoyance. All he wants to do is interrogate this lady about his sister, not entertain her by talking engagements.

“Clarke Griffin and Finn Collins. Two lovely youth, really. This place never fails to entertain. I’ve known the Griffin’s for years, and each time I stay at the Grand Hotel I’m never disappointed,” Genevieve Kane says, sipping her wine delicately. Bellamy wants to chug his glass in one go, but it’d undoubtedly come across as impolite.

“Yes, it is lovely here. A little unsafe, though, I hear…” He says thoughtfully, taking a gulp of wine, praying he sounds nonchalant.

“I beg your pardon?” Now she looks even more interested. These people survive off of overpriced wine and gossip.

“The thefts… haven’t you heard?” Bellamy asks, all mock horror.

“Thefts?” She implores, her husky voice dipping further.

“Well, Mrs. Kane, I’d assume you’d know first-hand, what with your jewelry having been stolen…” he trails off, looking at her questioningly.

“Apparently a maid stole from you? They just recently fired her. Octavia was her name, I believe,” Bellamy elaborates at her confused expression, his annoyance only intensifying.

“I have always been treated like royalty at this hotel, and it saddens me that such a rumor is floating about. I have never had jewelry stolen from me,” she declares, sounding genuinely upset. Bellamy furrows his brows in confusion because _what? If Octavia didn’t get fired for stealing, then why else?_

He’s getting ready to excuse himself, in search of Nathan, when a familiar blonde approaches the table.

“Genevieve! It’s so good to see you,” she says.

Bellamy is standing now, because he’s not a total asshole and his mother would rise from the grave and slap him if he didn’t get up for a woman at dinner.

“Clarke - finally! You’re looking more beautiful than ever.”

“Forgive me for not being able to greet you sooner, it’s been a busy day,” she tells Mrs. Kane, grabbing her hand in her own two smaller ones.

“Not to worry, dear. This here is Julie Dashner’s nephew, Clarke,” Mrs. Kane says after the blonde takes a seat.

Bellamy smiles charmingly at her. “Pleasure,” he says.

“I actually visited your aunt when I was in New York. She never mentioned you, though,” Clarke added thoughtfully, not accusingly. Bellamy’s fist still tightened underneath the table.

“I had other engagements in Boston, so it must have slipped her mind,” Bellamy responds tersely.

“Speaking of engagements…” Mrs. Kane trails off suggestively, looking at Clarke now, a slow smile spreading across her face. Clarke, on the other hand, looks like she just tasted something revolting. Her body tenses, and her stiff smile informs him, and anyone paying enough attention, that she is clearly unhappy discussing the topic. _Interesting_ , Bellamy thinks absently.

“Yes, well…” she trails off, looking extremely uncomfortable in her own skin. “We’ll see what happens,” Clarke finishes with a smile, but it just looks like a grimace to him.

Mrs. Kane looks slightly shocked at the response, or lack thereof, but doesn’t push the girl further. “Well, Mr. Dashner over here was telling me about a maid that was fired for stealing,” she says, prompting Bellamy to tense up.

Clarke’s attention is immediately grasped, her features molding into confusion. “Stealing?” she questions, a hint of annoyance in her voice, turning to Bellamy.

“So I heard,” Bellamy shrugged. “A girl named… Octavia?”

“Octavia Blake was head chambermaid, yes. She was a very hardworking and capable girl,” Clarke says determinedly.

“Yes, well apparently she’s the latest victim of a nasty rumor. They say she stole some of my jewelry,” Genevieve Kane rasps dismissively, taking a sip of her wine.

“Well, it definitely was just that – a rumor. None of our maids have ever been fired for stealing,” Clarke says, starring Bellamy right in the eye. It unnerves him.

“What a relief,” he says, smirking.

“Clarke,” says a male voice, interrupting the question in Clarke’s eyes. “I’m sorry, but the Jaha’s are expecting us at their table,” the man says, laying a hand on her chair.

“Of course, Finn,” she says stiffly. Then, to himself and Mrs. Kane, “It’s been a pleasure,” she says getting up from the table and walking away.

When Bellamy’s eyes land on Genevieve Kane again, she’s smirking at him. “See? People at this hotel just love to talk.” She finishes her wine with a gulp, lifting her hand for a waiter and a refill, reminding him that he’s been here too long.

“Yes, it seems they do,” Bellamy responds quietly, more confused they he had been initially.

If Octavia didn’t get fired for stealing, what did she get fired for?

*

“If I have learned anything from my late husband Jake Griffin, it’s that the guests of the Grand Hotel are family. That’s why I wish to share the exciting news with all of you that my daughter, Clarke, is officially engaged to Finn Collins, manager of this hotel. I’m sure you’ll both be extremely happy. To the both of you! Congratulations.”

Abby Griffin is holding her flute of champagne up to the crowd of guests littering the dance floor, Clarke and Finn standing behind her. While everyone is raising their glasses in a toast, Clarke looks frozen in place from Bellamy’s vantage point at the back of the room. Even from back here, Bellamy can see the dread in her eyes, and he’s wondering how this oblivious crowd of people doesn’t see the same unwillingness that is written all over her face. Only when the crowd of people cheers and claps their congratulations does Clarke finally take a sip of her champagne, and even then it looks like she is doing so for the sole purpose of pleasing the guests in front of her.

“She looks terrified,” Bellamy mutters to Nathan, who is standing quietly beside him.

“If you knew Clarke, you’d know what a rare occurrence that is,” Miller responds under his breath, a displeased twist to his lips.

When Bellamy sees her make her escape to the outside terrace after the formalities, he looks around before following her, stuffing his black bow tie into his jacket pocket in the process.

She’s leaning against the balcony railing, eyeing the giant pearl on her finger intensely.

“I don’t like crowds either,” Bellamy says, approaching her slowly. When he reaches the railing, he offers her one of his cigarettes. She politely declines.

“You don’t like smoking?” he questions, smirking because he’s not surprised.

“I don’t know. I’ve never smoked before,” she says meeting his gaze.

“You’ll never know unless you try,” he says dangling a cigarette in front of her. When she yanks it out of his hand, acquiescent, he raises his eyebrows. He didn’t think she’d actually take it.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he says after taking a long drag.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she says quietly, bitterly, not meeting his eyes. “What was your name?” she asks all of a sudden.

“Bellamy,” he says levelly.

“Bellamy Dashner?” When he nods in agreement, she keeps staring at him. The sound of glass shattering is what breaks her gaze. He’s thankful for the waiter behind them who dropped the wine he was serving onto the patio floor.

“Servants,” he mutters dismissively, hating himself.

She turns to him again, a displeased look on her face. “Us rich folk drop glasses, too,” she says, surprising him.

“I see you care about them,” he says pointing vaguely in the direction of the waiter.

“I grew up with a lot of them,” she says, promptly taking a toke, causing him to smile slightly.

“I assume you’re only familiar with the older staff then?” he questions.

“I know every employee who works here, if that’s what you’re asking,” she says with conviction. His eyebrows shoot up. “What about you, Mr. Dashner. What do you do?”

He tears his gaze away from her questioning one. “I’m an architect.”

“Oh? Would I know any of your work?” She asks, turning to face him, her hip resting against the railing.

“Doubtful. I work aboard,” he says dismissively, praying she changes the subject.

She smiles, doing exactly that. “I’ve always wanted to study… get an education. Be independent. My father always wanted that for me, too, but after he died… well, my mother thought the occupation of a wife would serve me better,” she says, a distant look in her eyes.

Bellamy swallows, feeling pity for this girl. “What did he die of?”

She sniffs, bringing herself back to the present. “The doctor’s aren’t really sure. It was very sudden,” she tells him, and Bellamy is almost positive he hears anger in her voice underneath all the sadness.

“You miss him,” Bellamy says, and it’s not a question. She doesn’t respond, too busy trying to keep the tears at bay, it seems.

He reaches out a hand to try to offer some form of comfort, before he realizes what he’s doing. He yanks his hand back, curling it into a fist. “Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “My mother died not too long ago, too.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, before he can regret what he’s shared, and she’s staring into his eyes with so much compassion he feels it impossible to look away.

“Well,” she says abruptly, stepping away. “I hope to see you again soon. Maybe you’ll accompany your aunt to the opera next time?”

“Unlikely,” he says, turning to face her. “I don’t particularly enjoy the opera.”

Unbelievably, she lets out a giggle.

“What?” he asks, surprised at her outburst.

“It’s just,” she says smiling, “a man of your class usually wouldn’t admit to disliking the opera.”

“Ah,” he says, understanding dawning on him. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t care much about all that. I prefer to do as I please.”

She nods briskly, a small smile gracing her lips. “I suppose you’re a fortunate man, then.”

Before she walks through the door, he calls out. “You do it too, you know. You’re out here, smoking a cigarette for the first time, while everyone is in there,” he jerks his head in the direction of the ball room, “waiting to congratulate you.”

Clarke gives him a thoughtful expression, but avoids the observation. “I should probably let them congratulate me, then.” She’s about to round the corner when she turns, holding up her cigarette. “And, no. I don’t like smoking.”

“Of course not, Princess,” he says smirking. Before he can kick himself for that slip up, she’s gone, and he’s left with the faint look of surprise that was present on her features.

_What the hell was that, Blake?_

**Author's Note:**

> If any of you are curious, google Palacio de la Magdalena to see what I envision as the Grand Hotel, and also one of the locations where they film the show (it really is a beauty)!
> 
> AND, picture Bellamy wearing this (it was too cute not to share) - https://www.pinterest.com/pin/17381148533994419/


End file.
